


All Things With Bones

by JoyBurd



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyBurd/pseuds/JoyBurd
Summary: It's Credence's ridiculous, beautiful mouth that does him in, honestly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't tell you where this fits in the narrative but I feel like it's pretty canon compliant. Trying to put out the fic that I want to see in the world. Unbeta-ed.

It's Credence's ridiculous, beautiful mouth that does him in, honestly.

Graves wants to see it pressed everywhere, against everything, every possible surface, every piece of his own skin and the grimy wall he can see just past Credence's shoulders. He wants to see the way Credence's lips would look if he pressed his cheekbones into his bed sheets, spit-shined and panting. He wants to see Credence's mouth open, just a little, while he wraps his fingers around his narrow throat. And he definitely wants to see his lips around his cock. Bad.

Part of him loves this, lives for it, even. It puts the extra pep in his step right out of apperating, just to see Credence look at him with those dark eyes, hooded brow, lips just a little bit open in awe, just a little bit bitten. It makes him feel twenty feet tall, like someone grand. Someone to be wanted.

"Mr. Graves," Credence says, voice like the squeak of a door hinge. Quiet, like he's used to it being unwanted.

Credence never looks right at him. Graves so rarely sees his eyes. But he can always see Credence's mouth. Credence couldn't hide that if he tried.

Graves can never keep his hands off him, so he starts their clandestine little meetings the same way every time. He reaches out, and already he can see that his palms dwarf the boy. He'd cover three fourths of the boy's chest with one hand, he guesses, if Credence wasn't wearing all his ridiculous layers of black. The clothes his mother puts him in make him look like a child, more than that ridiculous haircut, more than his own hunched shoulders.

"Credence," Graves says, letting his name scrape out of his throat just a little. He sees Credence press his lips together, turning them just slightly pink. Credence's breath is already fast. Graves can hear it, feel it, even. "What has she done to you?"

"Nothing." Credence says it fast, practiced. Exactly like he doesn't mean it.

Graves makes a little humming noise, sympathetic, luring, and Credence is already leaning toward him. Sometimes it's like Credence's hunger for touch lives on the surface of his skin. It feels like a living thing, how badly he wants to be held, and Graves finds himself shocked again that no one else seems to see it, feel it as he does.

Credence says nothing but he still gives Graves his hands, palms a mess of welts and bruises. Graves takes his hands, careful, holding just the edges. He doesn't have to touch him. He could use his wand, and he knows Credence isn't nearly aware enough of the wizarding world to be impressed with his wandless magic. Credence can't know what it means. But Graves loves to touch him, loves the hitch in his breath when Graves' thumb brushes over a fresh wound. He heals Credence just enough to raise no alarms, but the marks are still angry and red after the single swipe of his thumb. Graves keeps going, higher on Credence's hand until he can feel the sharp bone of his wrist.

"Where else?" he asks Credence.

Credence's stare centers somewhere in the vicinity of his necktie. "Nowhere," he says.

Graves rubs his thumb back and forth, just hard enough to hurt a little. Credence's face doesn't change.

"Are you sure?" Graves asks. "Let me help you, as you've helped me."

Graves can tell it's the wrong thing to say immediately. Credence's eyes flick lower, his head turning away from him. Graves doesn't even think about it, doesn't try to fight the slight panic in his chest over turning Credence away. Graves' reaches up with his other hand, pressing his fingers into Credence's cheek bone. 

He feels Credence's sharp intake of breath against his palm and has to suppress a groan.

"You've been a great help," Graves says. His thumb is already there, thrown carelessly over Credence's lips, pressing just enough to make a little indent. He moves it, rubs back and forth, just wanting to feel the texture of Credence's mouth. "You've been a great help to me, Credence."

Graves' thumb slips into his mouth and Credence groans, high and soft and exactly like he didn't mean to make the noise.

Every conversation with Credence feels like trying to court a scared rabbit. He's always afraid he'll scare him, that Credence will scamper away. But he's found that if he can just stay a little bit ahead, just keep Credence from thinking too hard about the moment or consequences, then he can keep Credence here.

So when he sees Credence's black eyes, growing wide with realization, he lets his hand slip all the way around to grip the back of Credence's neck. He pulls the boy until he's kissing his wide, panicked mouth.

Credence tastes like soap but he keeps pulling him until his whole body is one long, boney line against his. He feels like he could pull Credence over his knee and break him, so he pushes him back until Credence hits the wall of the alley. Graves' pulls the wrist still in his hand up, pressing it into the wall.

At first, Graves thinks he's trying to wriggle free when he feels Credence pressing his hips up. But when he stops kissing him he hears Credence, murmuring quietly, almost to himself, "Please, please, please."

"Please?" Graves says. Credence's hips are straining into his, Credence's mouth just close enough that when his lips move they still brush his. "Please what?"

"Please touch me," Credence says, swallowing. "Please, Mr. Graves, I want you to."

Graves wants to curse so he just presses his mouth back into Credence's skin, his whole body feeling like live wires and boiling water. He mouths his way down Credence's soft throat, licking and kissing without thinking about which. Credence doesn't seem to care. Graves can hear his murmuring still, right next to his ear. Little pleas and groans, and it keeps the hot sensations in his chest rearing up.

Graves gets a hand on his ass, fumbling through layers until he finds the edge of Credence's belt. He touches the leather and then the skin of Credence's back, and the whole of Credence's body arches into his.

"God," Credence chokes out.

Credence's belt is too tight for Graves to get more than a few fingers past, and he wants desperately to feel Credence's skin. He releases Credence's wrist, but grabs his chin, hard, fingers digging in until he thinks he might leave marks.

"Keep it there. Don't move your hand," Graves says.

"Yes, sir," Credence says, his chin tiled up just slightly, his eyes so dark in the dim alley light Graves can't even see his pupils.

"Good boy," Graves breaths into Credence's mouth. "Good."

He lets his hand slip down to Credence's belt and his hips are bucking again, trying to press into Graves'.

"Be still," he commands, "or you're going to make this difficult."

Credence just whimpers, eyes closed. Graves leans his forehead against Credence's shoulder, makes quick work of the belt now he can see it. Credence's cock is already straining against his smallclothes and Graves reaches for it. He grips him over the cloth and Credence keens.

Graves watches his mouth while he grips him, tugging just a little. The cloth must feel rough on Credence's sensitive skin but he doesn't stop him. He just pants, jaw moving only a little. Graves bites him, taking his lower lip between his teeth and worrying it. He knows it'll turn Credence's mouth cherry red, make him looked fucked out and whorish. He bites almost hard enough to draw blood. He wants to see that, he wants everyone to see. Credence makes these little noises, and Graves takes them, swallows them whole.

And then Credence's hips stutter and the cloth grows wet under Graves' hand.

"Oh look at you," Graves says. Credence's head thunks against the wall, his eyes still open and watching Graves under the hood of his heavy brow. "Sweet boy look what you've done."

"Mr. Graves," Credence says. Graves is already putting him away, redoing his belt. "Sir, let me-"

Graves presses his hips into the boy, cutting him off with a groan. He thinks about it, thinks about letting Credence sink to his knees right here, thinks about pressing Credence's head back into the wall and fucking into his hot mouth, lips stretched wide over his cock, throat bobbing, his little groans turned into choked noises.

But that's enough, just the thought of it, and now he's come in his own smallclothes like he's the eighteen-year old.

He kisses the very edge of Credence's inky black hair, pulls his head down to his shoulder.

"Next time," he says, thumb rubbing into the shorn hair under Credence's ear. "I think you can do that for me next time."


End file.
